In the delivery room of a Jerusalem hospital, as the contractions intensified and the midwife tried to help the laboring woman move into a more comfortable position, the mother felt something strange.
“She told me something was bothering her,” recalled Erga Froman, the midwife. “Then I realized that it was my gun, which was attached to the rotating belt and moved forward touching it.” After the baby was born, Froman’s colleagues at the hospital photographed her standing next to the newborn, still wearing the gun. “It’s a picture of contradictions,” she said.
Before Oct. 7, Froman, a mother of five who now lives in the Golan Heights in northern Israel, had never considered getting a gun license. He had never fired a gun in his life, choosing to do non-military national service instead of military service in the IDF. Change came quickly after that An unprecedented terrorist attack by Hamas On October 7, more than 1,200 people were killed in Israeli communities and shattered the sense of security that many Israelis had long relied on.
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“On the evening of Oct. 7, my husband and I realized that as I travel alone on dangerous roads at night for my job — to bring life into the world — I was protected,” Froman told Fox News Digital. need.” “By the next morning, I submitted my application for a gun license. Now I hope I won’t have to use it, but I’m ready if I have to.”
For decades, firearm ownership was rare in Israel. Although military service ensured that many Israelis were trained with weapons, personal firearms were seen as an excessive liability. A strict licensing process deterred many, and Israelis relied on the state and its defense forces to protect them from terrorist threats, which contributed to Israel’s low crime rate.
But after the October 7 Hamas massacre, many Israelis began to see personal firearms as a necessary form of protection. A more dangerous reality. “Because there weren’t enough medical teams on October 7, there weren’t enough defenses either,” Fromman noted. “Learning from that, today we have a community medical team, and we’re also armed to provide first responders.”
The Israeli Supreme Court is currently reviewing petitions against nationalist National Security Minister Atmar Ben-Goverr, alleging that his office issued firearms licenses without proper authority.
In the months following the Oct. 7 attack, more than 260,000 new gun license applications were submitted – nearly matching the combined total of the past two decades. More than 100,000 licenses have already been approved, a tenfold increase over last year.
Ayla Mirkin, a mother from Shiloh in Judea and Samaria, better known as the West Bank, was forced to sell weapons after her husband, an IDF reservist, was sent to fight in the Gaza war. applied for a license, and left him alone with his trio. small children “I felt unsafe driving through Arab villages and knew I had to do something to protect myself,” she said. “The process was much faster than before October 7, but it took months because of the flood of applications.”
Mirkin now carries her pistol whenever she leaves her settlement, even though she lives in conflict. “I don’t want to own a gun. The day I give it back will be the happiest day of my life. But I have no choice. It’s a means of survival.”
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For families like Mirkin’s, firearms have become a part of everyday life. She keeps her gun safely locked away in a safe and trains her children never to touch it. “It’s a tool to protect, not to kill,” she asserts. “My focus is on saving life, not taking it.”
Oren Gozlan, a paratrooper veteran and father, is among those who hesitated before applying for a license. stay on On the Israeli side At the Green Line border near the Palestinian town of Tulkarm, Guzlan decided he could no longer avoid arming himself. “The fear of having a gun in the house with kids is still there, but my family’s need for safety is greater than that,” he says. “October 7 changed everything. It made us realize that we are vulnerable in ways we never imagined.”
Gozlan is frustrated by what he sees as insufficient oversight in the licensing process. “At the range, I saw people who had never held a gun in their life, barely hitting their targets. It’s scary to think that these people are now walking around with firearms.”
Sar Zohar, a reservist in an elite unit, also expressed a similar change. For years, Zohar resisted owning a gun after his service, deeming it unnecessary. But a series of terrorist attacks after October 7 forced him to reconsider. “I couldn’t bear the thought of being helpless if something happened,” he says. “Knowing that I have the training and can respond, I feel it’s my responsibility.”
Unlike the United States, where Gun ownership Often associated with fear of crime or the defense of private property, firearms in Israel are seen as tools to combat terrorism. Historically, Israel has avoided the occasional mass shooting. Suffering from America But experts warn that the rapid proliferation of firearms could change that. With so many untrained personnel at arms, the fear of drastic actions and tragic mistakes is greatly increased.
Zohar faces the possibility of mistaken identity. “The idea that another armed citizen might mistake me for an attacker terrifies me,” he says, referring to a tragic incident in November 2023, when an Israeli citizen who opened fire on terrorists in Jerusalem. was accidentally killed by a young soldier.
The psychological toll of this change is evident among the newly armed men. Eyal Haskell, a father of three from Tel Aviv, talks about social pressure after October 7. “I never wanted to carry a gun, but my friends questioned why I wasn’t armed. It felt like an expectation, almost an obligation.”
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But Haskell is also troubled by what he’s seen at shooting ranges. “People treat it like a game, shooting without realizing the responsibility. It’s scary to think that these people are now licensed.”
For many Israelis, the reforms represent a necessary response to an existential threat. Yet, it has also exposed the system’s deep flaws. Critics argue that the current approach sacrifices long-term safety for short-term security, warning of potential unintended consequences, from accidental shootings to an increase in domestic violence.
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“Getting a gun license is easier than getting a driver’s license,” Guzlan says. “For a car, you need lessons, tests and strict rules. For a gun, it’s just some paperwork and a few hours at the range.”
Froman sees things differently. “If someone threatens you, you only draw your weapon in a national security situation. You don’t draw a gun for a personal life-threatening situation unless it’s a terrorist. The weapon is your husband’s safe. Can’t trust, I’m not allowed to use his gun. The weapon is for defense against those who want to harm us, not for ordinary self-defense.”
Merkin agrees. He said that we are not like America. “We don’t want guns as a hobby… for us it’s survival, not choice.”
One interviewee, who asked not to be named, described how he trained his wife to handle basic firearms, even though she doesn’t have a license. “I never wanted to put him in this position, but if I’m not home during an attack, he needs to know how to defend our children.”
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As Israel adjusts to this new reality, the social implications of increased firearm ownership are uncertain. For many, the weight of these decisions highlights the delicate balance between safety and responsibility.
“I hope I never have to use it,” Gozlan says. “But I can’t ignore the reality we live in. October 7 changed everything.”